Season of Denial Read online

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  Learn the origins of the Great Family!

  The Great Family was not always a great family.

  In October 1843, Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn all face problems, their hearts heavy with the challenges of life.

  This is the origins story of the Scandalous Scions series—the first great family gathering, where traditions that will last a generation are born and Anna & Rhys, Natasha & Seth, Elisa & Vaughn meld into a single, united family.

  Find out how the couples of Scandalous Sirens learn that together, they are stronger.

  This novelette has not been commercially released for sale. It is only available as a gift to readers of the series, who subscribe to Tracy’s Newsletter.

  Click here to get your copy.

  http://tracycooperposey.com/free-copy-of-lost-at-sea/

  Table of Contents

  Special Offer

  About Season of Denial

  Praise for Season of Denial

  Season of Denial Title Page

  The Great Families

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!

  About the Author

  Other books by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Copyright Information

  About Season of Denial

  He’s a rake, she’s not quite a spinster. Life is interesting when they’re together, but…

  When her twin sister, Bridget, betrays Lady Mairin’s trust by marrying a man within the Great Family, Mairin determines she will find a suitable husband elsewhere, no matter what.

  Iefan Davies, the family rakehell, who has rejected both the family and society, introduces Mairin to the Duke of Gascony, then teaches her to woo the duke. Between seduction lessons, Iefan shows her the world beyond the ton.

  Neither considers the other suitable marriage material, for Mairin has a duke in her sights, while Iefan has no intention of curtailing his bachelor ways, although life is certainly interesting when they’re together.

  Season of Denial is the seventh book in the Scandalous Scions series, which brings together the members of three great families, to love and play under the gaze of the Victorian era’s moralistic, straight-laced society.

  Reader Advisory: This story contains frank sex scenes and sexual language.

  This story is part of the Scandalous Scions series:

  0.5 Rose of Ebony

  1.0 Soul of Sin

  2.0 Valor of Love

  3.0 Marriage of Lies

  3.5 Scandalous Scions Boxed Set 1

  4.0 Mask of Nobility

  5.0 Law of Attraction

  6.0 Veil of Honor

  6.5 Scandalous Scions Boxed Set 2

  7.0 Season of Denial

  8.0 Rules of Engagement

  9.0 Degree of Solitude

  10.0 Ashes of Pride

  11.0 Risk of Ruin

  12.0 Year of Folly

  13.0 Queen of Hearts

  A Sexy Historical Romance

  Praise for Season of Denial

  I always enjoy the strong characters that Tracy introduces us to in her books. Another amazing read involving members of England's most independent members of the ton, the Great Families.

  A case of “be careful what you wish for.” Absolutely captivating series!! I highly recommend this story and series.

  What an adventure! It starts in the rigidly structured social season of London and ends on a wild adventure with a very big BANG.

  The story takes you out of the "norm" for the series and adds twists and turns that make this one of the best books of the series.

  Cooper-Posey’s stories are always richly steeped in historical detail, heart stopping action, the entire gamut of emotions, incredibly unique and three dimensional characters.

  One of the best books of the series!! The story of Mairin and Iefan is one of life’s lessons!

  Great book written by the amazing story teller Tracy Cooper-Posey. The books in this series just keep getting better.

  With every additional book to the series it gets better and better. I LOVE her surprising twists, they are always amazing and so “edge of your seat” gripping. Cant wait for the next!

  The Great Families

  Elisa and Vaughn Wardell

  Marquess of Fairleigh, Viscount Rothmere

  1825 Raymond, Viscount Marblethorpe (stepson)

  1839 William Vaughn Wardell

  1839 John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1842 Sarah Louise Wardell (D)

  1843 Peter Lovell Wardell (January)

  1844 Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell (adopted in 1848)

  1844 Patricia Sharla Victoria Mayes (fostered in 1846)

  1849 Blanche Brigitte Colombe Bonnay (adopted in 1851)

  1853 Emma Jane Wardell (adopted at birth)

  Natasha and Seth Williams

  Earl of Innesford, Baron Harrow (Ire.)

  1839 Lillian Mary Harrow

  1840 Richard Cian Seth Williams

  1841 Neil Vaughn Williams

  1843 Daniel Rhys Williams (February)

  1846 Bridget Bronte Williams & Mairin May Williams

  1849 Annalies Grace Williams

  Annalies and Rhys Davies

  Princess Annalies Benedickta of Saxe-Weiden, of the royal house Saxe-Coburg-Weiden, Formerly of the Principality of Saxe-Weiden.

  1835 Benjamin Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1842 Iefan William Davies

  1843 Morgan Harrow Davies (October)

  1843 Sadie Hedley Davies (adopted in 1845)

  1846 Bronwen Natasha Davies

  1848 Alice Thomasina Davies (adopted at birth) (D)

  1849 Catrin Elise Davies

  And their children:

  Natasha and Raymond Devlin

  Viscount Marblethorpe

  1857 Vaughn Elis Devlin (Raymond’s heir)

  1861 Richard Seth Devlin

  Lilly and Jasper Thomsett

  1862 Seth Eckhard Thomsett (heir)

  1863 Elise Marie & Anne Louise Thomsett

  1864 George Jasper Thomsett (stillborn)

  Sharla and Dane Balfour + Benjamin Hedley (Davies)

  Duke of Wakefield

  1867 Jennifer Jane Balfour & Benjamin Dane Balfour (heir)

  1868 Alice Thomasina Balfour

  Bronwen Natasha Davies and Archeduke Edvard Christoffer of Silkeborg

  1870 Christina Clara Elisa Bronwen

  John (Jack) Gladwin Lochlann Mayes and Gwendolyn (Jenny) Violet Moore Wardell-Ryder

  Baron Guestwick, heir to the Marquess of Laceby

  1864 Jackson Vaughn Ryder

  1866 Stuart Theodore Ryder

  1869 Phillip Dane Mayes

  William Vaughn Wardell & Bridget Bronte Williams

  Viscount Rothmere, heir to the Marquess of Fairleigh

  1869 Elizabeth Anne Wardell

  Chapter One

  Mayfair, London. April 1870.

  Airy notes of a Strauss waltz filtered through the walls of the salon. The distant tinkle underlined the silence, which was as thick as the cig
ar smoke drifting above the heads of the four players like fingers of London fog.

  Iefan put his cards face down, picked up his brandy and settled back in the comfortable chair, his expression bland. “Whenever you are ready, Westgate.”

  Dinsby, the new Earl of Westgate, hissed and tugged at his waistcoat. “Damn it, man, let me think.”

  Iefan suppressed his comment about Westgate’s capacity for clear thought and said instead, “You have been thinking since the butler delivered the third decanter. Come along. Play your hand.”

  Louis, Duke of Gascony and Westgate’s partner, cleared his throat. His fashionable bowtie was still perfectly tied and his shirtfront immaculate. His back was still straight. No one would know he had been playing for four hours. “I have trouble counting English Sterling notes, although I do believe there is more than twenty pounds upon the table, no?” His Gallic features were as neutral as Iefan’s.

  “Twenty-seven pounds, three shillings,” Iefan replied, without looking at the tidy pile of big notes sitting upon the center of the round table.

  “A rather large sum,” Gascony pointed out.

  “If you are losing your nerve, Westgate, you have only to say,” Iefan told the sweating man on his right.

  Alexander Ramsey, Esquire, sitting opposite Iefan, caught his gaze and shook his head. It was important to Alex that the two of them win the hand. No one in the room nor, indeed, the entire building, knew Alex lived upon the proceeds of his whist playing.

  Westgate huffed, his face turning red. “Are you calling me a coward, sir?”

  “Not at all,” Iefan said, with a mental sigh. “Cowardice is a product of an over-active imagination, which in turn requires intelligence.”

  Gascony’s eyes widened, while Westgate threw down his cards and spluttered with wounded dignity. “I take offense at that!”

  Alex sighed and put down his hand, for Westgate’s cards laid face up, ruining the game.

  “The truth offends you?” Iefan asked.

  “Truth?” Westgate repeated, astonishment warring with his indignation. “Is this the excuse you will use to defend your remarkable run of luck, Davies?”

  Iefan tossed his cards onto the linen, his frustration building. “You ask if I am cheating?”

  Gascony slid his hand together and put the neat pile on the table, too. “You must admit, monsieur, that even the most skilled card players cannot win every single game the way you and M. Ramsey have done.”

  Iefan sat back and laughed. “Luck!” He laughed again.

  Westgate’s face grew a deep scarlet.

  Alex smiled to himself as he separated the notes on the table and gave them back to their owners.

  “There is no luck involved, Gascony,” Iefan said. “Even mediocre skill is enough to best a poor player and Westgate, here, is too simple to recognize just how weak his skills are.”

  Gascony drew down his mouth in a purely French expression. “Strong words.”

  Iefan threw out his hand toward Westgate. “He dithers because he needs the king of spades to complete his run. The king of spades was played by you, two rounds ago. He wonders if he might instead find himself with the ten of the suit, yet Alex held that card, or else he would not have picked up the nine.”

  “You remember what cards I played?” Gascony enquired.

  “I remember them all!” Iefan shot back. He pointed at Alex, who had begun the round. “Three of heart, six of clubs, seven of hearts.” He pointed at Westgate. “The ace, which was stupid. Seven of diamonds, also stupid.”

  Westgate gasped.

  Iefan finished the list of played cards, in the five rounds of this game, while Alex looked bored and Gascony’s brow lifted. When Iefan finished, he added, “Shall I tell you the cards played in the other six games?”

  Silence, while another dance, a polka this time, punctuated by heavy feet and breathless laughter, filtered through the closed door.

  “You…could name cards in all six games?” Gascony asked, sounding winded.

  “I do not cheat,” Iefan said, his tone flat. He got to his feet and glanced at Westgate. “I have no need.”

  Westgate growled.

  Iefan didn’t waited for the portly man to struggle to his feet. He pushed his money back to Alex and stepped out into the bright, busy hallway between the salon and the ballroom. When he heard Westgate lumbering after him, he quickened his pace and looked for an escape route.

  If he couldn’t dodge Westgate, who was an imbecile, then he deserved everything the newly minted Earl handed out.

  THE HUMILIATION WAS TOO great to remain in the ballroom. Mairin picked up the front of her pale blue satin gown and hurried through the back entrance. She tore the dance card from her wrist and squeezed it in her gloved hand as she moved through the rooms and halls blindly. Her heart beat far too hard for a woman who had not danced but once this night.

  Windows ahead showed a brightly lit conservatory on the other side. The cool air under the glass and the freshness of green growing things would help her recover. With a touch of relief, Mairin pushed the door open and moved into the glassed-in garden. Palms and greenery edged the brick path she used to move deeper into the shrubbery. If this was a typical conservatory, there would be a chair or bench somewhere in the middle where one could repose and take in the garden.

  True to form, the path widened and a bench presented itself. It was empty, which was remarkable, although the supper hour was drawing near and everyone lingered in the ballroom, waiting for the announcement of the meal.

  Mairin settled on the bench, automatically arranging the folds of her ballgown. She barely noticed the sky-blue satin which had so pleased her when she bought it. She shoved the folded and bent dancing card into her pocket and felt the soft folds of paper already there.

  With a sigh, Mairin pulled out the much-read letter and smoothed it open once more.

  Dearest sister:

  I barely know where to begin. I suppose I must impart the greatest of my news. I am a mother…

  There was no need to read the remainder of the letter. Mairin knew it by heart. Bridget had born a daughter and gushed over the wonder of babies. On every page of the three tightly written sheets, her obsession over her husband, Will, spoke from among the descriptions of domestic bliss. Will, who was family and the last man she should have considered.

  Mairin’s eyes ached and the lines of script blurred.

  How could she? Why? The questions made her throat tighten, too.

  Hurried footsteps on the brick path made Mairin lift her head, her heart sinking even farther. She had no wish to see anyone. She had thought herself safe from interruption here.

  Perhaps she should have risked the scorn of the ton and returned home despite the early hour.

  The tall, lean man with thick black curls who pushed through the last of the big tropical leaves and palm fronds wasn’t a stranger, although she had not seen him in a long time.

  Iefan Davies, the absentee heir of the Davies family and an honorary cousin, looked as though he was in a great hurry. His black eyes met hers and his jaw worked.

  From closer to the door of the conservatory came the sound of male voices, one of them strident.

  Iefan glanced over his shoulder, then raised his finger to his lips. He stepped off the path and moved behind the thick copse of ferns and palms.

  The other two men appeared only a few moments later. One of them was the red-faced Earl of Westgate, who appeared to be doing the muttering. His mouth worked, and his hands were fisted.

  The other man was a stranger, although his clothing and appointments said he was a lord. He did not seem to be as upset as Westgate.

  “Lady Mairin,” Westgate said, hurrying up to her. “I’m looking for your blighted cousin. Davies. Did he come this way?”

  “Which Davies cousin do you refer to, Lord Westgate?” she asked coolly. Westgate had once spent a summer letting her think he was interested in her, only to marry Violet Brigham-Jones the next Christma
s. The gossips said the new couple were unhappy and Mairin might have felt satisfaction over their unhappiness, except that little pleased her anymore. “Benjamin or Morgan?” she added, for she had spotted Ben earlier in the evening, although she wasn’t certain if Morgan was here or not.

  “Iefan,” Westgate said heavily, as if she strained his patience. He mispronounced Iefan’s name as so many did, as “eye-fan” instead of the Welsh pronunciation of “ei-ven”.

  “Iefan?” she repeated, saying it properly. “Why, I do believe I saw him rush down the corridor in front of the conservatory, as I came in. He looked as though he was in a great hurry. Is he trying to avoid you, Lord Westgate?”

  Westgate whirled to look back toward the windows of the conservatory which looked into the house proper. “That way?” he said, his tone one of disbelief. “I swore I saw him enter here.”

  “Are you accusing me of being untruthful?” Mairin asked, injecting even more chill into her tone.

  Westgate glared at her.

  “No, he is not, and he apologizes,” the other man said, gripping Westgate’s sleeve. “Come along, Dinsby,” he added, tugging. “Let’s find the champagne, hmm?”

  Westgate stood indecisively, his mouth working.

  The other man turned him and shepherded him down the path. He looked back at her and bent his head. “I apologize for interrupting your peace, my lady.” Then he pushed Westgate into returning the way they had come.

  As soon as they had disappeared, Iefan emerged. He smiled, his eyes dancing, as he came toward her. “Lady Mairin, you are my savior.”

  “I doubt that,” she replied. “Whatever are you doing here, Iefan? I didn’t think soirees were your cup of tea.”

  He grimaced, his full lips pressing together. “They are not. The whist game in the smoking salon, however, was.”

  “Ah.” She folded Mairin’s letter and slid it back into her pocket. “What caused Westgate to chase you in that way? Did he catch you cheating?”